


1914

by meinchester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 1910s, 1920s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Castiel-centric, Christmas, Destiel - Freeform, Deutsch | German, M/M, Religious Content, Slow Burn, Soldier Castiel, Soldier Dean Winchester, Soldier Sam Winchester, Teacher Castiel, World War I, christmas truce, timejump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 10:38:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9120004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meinchester/pseuds/meinchester
Summary: It's the year 1914. The first World War is ripping Europe apart and as Christmas arrives, the men of the Western Front are exhausted. Most wish for the battle to cease, and it is thanks to these tired men that the rattling of guns disappears.What happens on the Christmas Eve exceeds even the imagination of Sam Winchester, a young pacifist who fights the Germans with his brother Dean. To Castiel, a German soldier, it was a God-given miracle.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to http://justtasteful.tumblr.com/, who helped me with my German translations. They are in the notes, at the end of the fic. 
> 
> I wish you all had the most beautiful Christmas, or if you do not celebrate it - then I hope you've had a brilliant holiday so far!  
> And I also want to wish you all a magical New Year 2017! May it be filled with joy, piece and love. Be accepting, kind and selfless. Our world needs it. 
> 
> \- - -
> 
> This piece is indeed Destiel, but it is slow burn. I write about Dean's and Castiel's relationship during the truce and wanted to stay realistic. That means they won't be lovers from the day one.

“ -- beneath the shivering, shy stars

and the pinned moon

and the yawn of History;

the high, bright bullets

which each man later only aimed at the sky.”  
  
\- _The Christmas Truce_ , by Carol Ann Duffy

  


  
  


  
“How do fates - _or destinies_ \- entwine?”   
  
A man crossed his hands on the table and scanned the full room of students, searching for a reaction. No one raised their hand. But their attention was fixed on him, which the man approved.   
  
“Tell me, what do you call a situation where all morality is lost?”   
  
  
It took a minute, but soon a young man slowly raised his hand. The teacher nodded, allowing him to answer.   
  
  
“Tragedy, sir?” He tried.   
  
“Quite true, John. But not the answer I was looking for. Though, tragedy too, is always present when it comes to this. _War._ I’m talking about _war_ .”   
  
  
He stood up and walked in front of the class, his hands now behind his back. He wondered how he could deliver the message he wanted without boring his students to death.   
  
  
“How many of you like Christmas stories? Or rather, how many of you have heard at least one?”   
  
  
All hands reached towards the ceiling. The teacher smiled fondly.   
  
  
“I want to tell you one. This one is unlike any other. It’s very real, fact, not fiction. It’s a story where men found compassion in their hearts and embraced those who they were all taught to despise. In this story the most unlikely thing happens - something that left its mark on history,” he paused, checking that everyone was still listening, “now you may wonder why I want to tell you this. But I think it’s important to hear stories of love instead of hate. Especially around Christmas time.”   


**  
** **  
** **Christmas Eve, 1914.**

 **The Western Front.** **  
** **  
  
**

The Great War or as it would later be known, the World War l, was one of the world’s greatest tragedies. In the four years that the war lasted, numerous men faced both misery and agony on a daily basis. Many lives were taken, many were lost. So it always manages to surprise many; how the war also brought up the best in humanity, along with the worst. One of these examples was the unofficial Christmas truce of 1914, and the events it brought forth. This is a story of a few people, who witnessed it all and whose lives were permanently changed by it. **  
  
**

_First there was Castiel Novak._ _  
_ _  
_ Castiel was not a smoker. But even a man such as him, _who seeked God and wilfully avoided vices and other immoralities_ , soon realized the worth of cigarettes. It's basic knowledge in the war. As soon as he had learned how they could pass as currency, he had gathered what he could and preserved the valuable rolls in the front pocket of his uniform. He would exchange them to other necessities, such as writing equipment or chocolate which he was very fond of. For this and many other reasons, his German peers found him both amusing and strange. However, Castiel never crossed anyone on purpose and therefore had little trouble with the others. In fact, he soon grew closer with some of his comrades and something comparable to a friendship bloomed.

He often found himself around these four other men.

One of them was private Samandriel, who was the youngest soldier in their group. Being only 17 years old, approximately ten years younger than Castiel himself was, he felt almost obliged to shelter the boy. This led to his military nickname, _glucke,_ given by another of his friends, a slightly older corporal who demanded to be called by his first name - Gabriel.

The other two men were Balthazar and Gadreel. Balthazar was the oldest, an officer who had lived in London some years ago. Despite his high military rank, he was the most carefree of the group. Gadreel on the other hand was rather quiet, Castiel had learned. But he had a heart of gold and strong will to do good, both of which seemed to be disappearing qualities in the war.   


And it was bad. On 7th of December even the Pope Benedict XV practically begged for an official truce between the colliding governments.

“ _May the guns fall silent at least upon the night the angels sang,_ ” he had cried out. It was hastily rebuffed, confirming the swelling despair of the war-mangled soldiers. Or at least of those who had succeeded in sustaining the small spark of hope that they still had had in their hearts. To most it did not come as a surprise, they would only frown and shrug it off. Cursing seemed pointless as it had done no good before. Castiel thought so too.

  
In war, some men were very vocal about their personal opinions; about the ongoing war and politics.  Those were both topics that Castiel gladly avoided. Though it may have been impossible to shut one’s ears from the uproar, since all of his friends - _except Gadreel_ \- enjoyed complaining just as much as the other men, no one pryed for which he was thankful for.

But not even Castiel bothered to hide the fact that he had been delighted when the warfare in their area decelerated. Why disguise it with gruesome warmongering? For his relief such thing was not needed since most of their troops welcomed the change.

Their trench lines were fairly close to the Brits. Because of their proximity, some of the more bolder men soon realized how easy it was to shout to the opponents and this way talk with them. Despite the warnings that followed in the beginning, they defied their higher ups by continuing their conversations between the trenches. In English they mostly exchanged greetings and news about football leagues. Castiel decided not to take any part in it, but enjoyed listening the short conversations every now and then.

Even though occasional quarrels took place, less bullets were fired.  
  
Time passed slowly.

 

Now, on the 24th of December, Castiel Novak listened to the steady pace of the exploding bombs. The air carried the noise from far, far away and their own line was silent. The noise reminded him of a heartbeat, but symbolised something else entirely. Such was the world.   
  
His eyelids cracked open, showing him the limited view of the muddy ground and his dirty pants. He opened them fully and allowed himself to look around, take it all in at once. There was a man on Castiel’s right side, their back turned towards him. For a second Castiel doubted whether the man was alive at all, but was soon relieved after someone came from his left side, waking up the sleeping private with the clank that their rifle made every time it hit the helmet hanging from their belt. The noisy soldier stopped in front of Castiel and crouched down with an over exaggerated groan. As soon as Castiel’s gaze found the familiar face, he smiled at the man and offered him his round water bottle. Gabriel raised his hand in refusal and used the same hand to wipe some mud from his nose. It only spread across his face. The same dark mud that surrounded them; below their feet and around them as high as to their shoulders. Something that they all hated, but at the same time respected. It did protect them to the extent, even if it did smell like demise and smeared their clothes.   
  
  
_"Verdammt,”_ Gabriel cursed, muffling out a laugh. For some reason Castiel nodded, it felt appropriate.   
  
“ _Dieser Krieg ist krank_ ,” he continued, “ _Was machen wir_ _, Castiel? Was machen wir hier?_ ”   
  
“ _Ich weiß nicht_ .”  
  
Gabriel huffed before stretching out his arms, “ _Ja._ _Natürlich._ ”   
  
A blanket of silence descended, swallowing the men. But it lasted only for a moment. Gabriel rested his head against the wall of mud and squeezed his knees. Finally he clicked his tongue and squinted, “ _Was willst du, Cassie?_ ”   
  
Castiel could tell that the question had been gnawing Gabriel’s mind for a while, perhaps longer than this moment. He pondered what kind of an answer Gabriel wanted to hear, and settled for the most honest one he could think of.   
  
“ _Frieden_.”

 

Across the no man’s land, down in the enemy trench, a bandage was being changed. The lance corporal’s steady, yet blistered, hands handled the gauze with intense care. He worked his way up the other man’s elbow. The injury was rather old, but healed slowly for the man repeatedly managed to rip his wound open in the poor conditions. The surrounding dirt made the area as unsanitary as possible.   
  
  
“Done.” He declared after finishing with a firm knot. The patched up soldier tugged his sleeve down and pressed his lips together. His name was Samuel Winchester, who everyone knew simply as _Sam_ . He was the younger brother of _Dean Winchester_ , who happened to be the one helping him.   
  
Sam nodded, “thank you.”   
  
“Don’t mention it.”  
  
  
Dean put the rest of the gauze bandage into the pack on the ground with care; he avoided getting any dirt in it, which was silly, considering that the bandages would be nowhere near white in less than 24 hours. But it was good to have some sort of habits that made the everyday life in the trench more durable.   
  
A loud burst of laughter could be heard from the other side of the barbed wire. ‘ _Der Dummkopf!_ ’ someone cackled with their deep voice.  


“Someone’s having a blast, huh?” the older brother grinned and folded his arms. He gazed at the edge of the trench, but knew better than pop his head above the ground.   
  
Sam huffed a laugh and lowered his head.   
  
“Say,” Dean cleared his throat and leaned a bit closer, “how long since the last bullet?”   
  
“Here? Thirteen days.”   
  
Satisfied with the answer, Dean was about to lean backwards again. Sam however, lifted his chin up and shoot a distressed look at his brother. The bluish lines under his eyes marked his exhaustion, and his brows bent downwards. The bitterness nearly dripped from his words, “but elsewhere it _never_ stopped, Dean.”   
  
  
When the German empire struck, their stances on the war had been vastly distinct. Sam had been reluctant since the beginning and it was no longer a secret that he was a pacifist. The 22 year old did his everything in order to escape the brutality, whereas his older brother - by four years - managed by shutting himself in. At first it had been effective, but as soon as it came apparent that morality was a rarity in war, it changed Dean’s way of seeing things. He wouldn’t call himself as a pacifist, but oh did he hate the war.   
  
  
“I will check on Benny. I’ll come back soon, alright?”   
  
“No, I’ll come with you.”   
  
  
Dean stood up and headed towards his comrade’s location. He was glad that his brother had decided to come, leaving his brother behind always bothered him, but Dean knew his presence wouldn’t always help. The boy needs his privacy sometimes, just like everyone else.  
  
The narrow trenches were filled with far too many murky puddles for him to bother dodging them. Water splattered over his army boots, wetting the older stains. It took them little less than five minutes to reach Benny’s stand. The man greeted them both with a toothy grin, a half burnt cigarette sticking out between the white row of teeth. Though well known of/for his friendly nature, Dean could tell that his friend was being even merrier than usual.   
  
  
“Greetings brothers!” private Lafitte called after removing the cigarette. He pinched it with his rifle mittens, a skill that he had mastered during the war.

“Benny.” Dean nodded, but soon shook his head when Benny offered his cigarette case for him.  
  
  
The case was swiftly shoved back into the pocket where it belonged. Dean always refused, but Benny never stopped offering them. It was the least Benny could do; ever since Dean had rescued him from what was certain death, Benny had felt like he was in debt for him. It had embarked their friendship.

 

“You won’t believe what’s happening over there.”   
  
“Do tell.”   
  
“Trees. The huns are putting up trees.”   
  
“What do you mean?” Dean crossed his arms.   
  
“Aye, and candles. Around the edges of the trenches and on the trees.”   
  
“How do you know?”   
  
Benny looked Dean in the eye as a smug smile spread across his face, “I looked.”   
  
“Over the edge?” Sam suddenly took part in the conversation.  
  
  
Benny nodded and dumped his cigarette bud into the mud.   
  
For a long while Dean had sustained his curiosity. He and Sam often shook their heads at the men who foolishly raised their heads up one after another.   
  
But not a single bullet had been fired for thirteen days.   
  
‘ _Thirteen days,’_ Dean reminded himself as he pulled himself together and climbed the edge, until he managed to look over it. And he did see the small twinkling lights of what must have been candles. Dozens of candles.   
  
He focused on the candles and blocked out the numerous bodies which lied still around the space between him and the lights.  
  
  
A frantic shout and a harsh tug pulled him down and the next thing he saw was his brother’s anger reddened face and Benny’s alarmed expression. Benny’s hand was quickly squeezing Sam’s shoulder, reassuring him that everything was alright and that absolutely no one was hurt.  
  
  
“What on earth were you thinking?” Sam spouted, and when Dean didn’t get the words out fast enough, he continued, “do you want to wind up dead, is that it?”   
  
“Candles.”   
  
“I- What?”

“Candles, Sam. They really are lighting up candles.”  
  
  
Suddenly very baffled, Sam turned his head and looked at Benny. But he didn’t get any answers there, for Benny only smiled and tipped his hat, silently muffling _Merry Christmas, boy_ under his breath.   
  
As if it wasn’t confusing enough already, nothing could have possibly prepared them for what came next. When the situation had calmed down and they all just stood and stared at the white snow clouds, their bodies quickly stiffened and their necks bent to the same direction when the noise reached them. Surrounded them.  
  
  
It wasn’t just any kind of a noise.   
It was a song.   
  


_Silent Night,_

_Holy Night._

_All is calm,_

_All is bright._

_Round yon virgin,_

_Mother and child_

_Holy infant so tender and mild._ _  
  
_

_Sleep in heavenly peace!_

_Sleep in heavenly peace!  
  
_ _  
_   
Sam’s mouth fell open.   
  
“ _Our troops are singing_ ,” he managed to choke out. They all gaped, even Benny whose new cigarette had fallen to the ground after the first two verses. He stomped it into the ground with his boot.

 

Everyone was singing in the midst the mud and frost, all but a few exceptions who simply lacked the Christmas spirit for one reason or another.   


“ _Sleep in heavenly peace!_ ” they all sang, but when they repeated it they were more or less shouting.   


When the Brits began singing the second verse, new voices joined the elation.   
  
_  
Stille Nacht! Heil'ge Nacht! _

_Gottes Sohn, o wie lacht_

  
In the opposite trench, Castiel who at first settled to only listen with a smile, was soon pulled up from his seat. Gabriel’s, Samandriel’s and Balthazar’s loud and glad voices surrounded him and the overjoyed look they all shared warmed Castiel inside out. The group of men weaved their way to Gadreel, who seemed to shy away from singing. But as soon as Castiel gave up and joined in, though not nearly singing as loud as his fellow soldiers, Gadreel slowly started humming along the familiar words.   
_  
_ And the languages melted into each other.     
  
_Jesus in deiner Geburt!_ The Germans yelled.   
_Christ the Savior is born!_ The Brits answered.  
  
  
When the first song finished and the second one started, even more men started singing. During the new song only a few were sitting and the rest of the men were standing tall on both sides. Some men threw their arms around each other’s shoulders, swaying along the chorus. Balthazar and Gabriel were both part of the swaying group, dragging Samandriel with them. Castiel and Gadreel on the other hand stood still, capturing and cherishing the moment.   
  
Then they were all stopped in their tracks.  
  
  
A man climbed up the trench, dragging himself up to the open ground. It didn’t happen right next to Castiel and his friends, so they were left with no options. The shaken soldiers could only stand motionlessly, watch and wait.     
  
The singing died. British soldiers yelled and raised their rifles to the edge of their trench, ready to shoot if ordered. It made many Germans lunge down, but not Castiel nor Samandriel who were both too startled to move. They froze. Castiel knew he should rush down, but he simply couldn’t. Gabriel who was right next to Samandriel, pulled the young boy down, which gave Castiel one thing less to worry about. The other men continued to yell at Castiel, ordering him to get down. But he didn’t; Castiel looked over the edge and searched for his trespassing comrade. He knew the young private by face, but couldn’t recall his name. The man slowly raised both of his arms, showing such courage that it sent shivers down men’s spines.   
  
  
“Don’t shoot!” The man shouted in broken English. His fellow soldiers nearly begged him to return to the trench, but it had little effect on the driven man. He kept his stance.   
  
  
Time seemed to stop.   
  
People warily glanced around themselves, for nothing happened.   
  
Castiel had to hold his breath when he noticed the movement in the British line. A man, at least twice the age of the German man, climbed up and struggled getting on his feet. He took a look behind him, where someone hissed an angry _‘no’_ and cursed. Then he switched his attention to the other man and copied him by similarly raising his own arms up towards the sky.   
  
The older soldier walked towards the so-called enemy, stopping when there was less than five meters between them. Another man appeared from the British trench. He lacked the confidence that the two other men shared, but walked after his friend anyway. They exchanged words that Castiel was unable to hear from that distance.   
  
All three men standing in the middle of the infamous no man’s land lowered their arms. The German soldier took a few steps closer and raised his hand. A sign of solidarity. The older Brit didn’t think much of it when he took the necessary steps and reached for the hand.   
  
  
“ _Fröhliche Weihnachten_ .”   
  
The Brit gave his hand a firm squeeze and smiled, “Merry Christmas, pal.”   
  
  
Not one could have foreseen what happened next. One soldier after another appeared on the open, encountering their enemies with peace. The men shook hands with one another, exchanged greetings and brought back the recently killed soldiers. They had burial parties behind their own lines and joint services were held. Only a few people could see the irony in that.   
  
Out of Castiel’s group, Samandriel was the most enthusiastic about getting out and meeting the Brits.

He had that childlike naivety in him, which very much amused the others. By the time they got up it had started snowing. Not heavily though, the light powder snow landed gently over their clothes and hair. It didn’t stay on the ground very well, for it got easily stomped on by the men that were scattered around the open.   
Castiel followed his friends and soon realized that they had found the brave young man who had initiated the excursion, and now wished to share a couple words with him. He gladly tagged along.   
  
Gabriel, who remembered the man’s name and felt like teasing him, cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “ _Du kleiner Rebell_ _, Fitzgerald_ !”  


Fitzgerald’s face lit up as he saw the men and he immediately bursted into a loud, cheerful laughter.  
  
  
“ _A rebel?_ ” A younger Brit in their company translated. It was a mere guess, since the words were very much alike in both languages. He seemed quite confused, but Castiel couldn’t blame him. After all, they didn’t know Gabriel and his witty personality. Castiel also recognized the man; he had been the third person to stand up and take part in the protest.   
  
“ _Ja, ja!_ ” Gabriel grinned, patting the Brit on the head. The man frowned, but didn’t do much to stop him.   
  
“Ah,” Fitzgerald spread out his arms and threw his hands over the two Brits, “ _Korporal Dean Winchester und Soldat Benjamin Lafitte.”_ _  
_ _  
_ “ _Benny_ ,” the man quickly corrected.   
  
Gabriel shook their hands, “ _Gabriel Milton._ ”  
  
  
The other men followed his example.  
  
  
“ _Korporal Balthazar Milton. Sein cousin.”_ Both Brits understood that it must have meant a cousin, so they gave him a small nod. _  
_ _  
_ _“Samandriel Alf.”_ The youngest of them all. _  
_ _  
_ _“Gadreel Ezekiel.”_ The situation seemed to make Gadreel slightly uncomfortable, but he shook their hands nonetheless. Then again, Gadreel wasn’t very good at dealing with new people, and he dreaded any kind of formalities. _  
_ _  
_ _“Castiel Novak.”_ _  
_ _  
_ “Pleased to meet you all,” Dean mumbled whilst shaking Castiel’s hand.  
  
  
And this is how _they_ met.

  
  


On the first day of the unofficial Christmas truce, the men spend a good while getting to know eachother better.

  
They stayed together as a group, having brief conversations and sharing tobacco. At one point Castiel found himself left alone with the younger Brit, whose name he remembered with ease; it was Dean.

Dean had short brown hair, his smile was slightly crooked and the corners of his green eyes wrinkled every time he laughed. Castiel admitted that he admired the man, he was after all, very attractive. Despite the fact that Castiel’s first impression of Dean had been shy or coy, he was pleasantly surprised when he learned that it had been incorrect to assume so. Dean was in many ways ideal to Castiel, something that he too desired to be like. Outgoing and witty.   
  
  
“Hey, you alright?”  
  
  
Castiel realized he must have been staring, otherwise Dean wouldn’t look as amused.

  
“I’m content, thank you for asking.”  
  
  
The fluent english baffled Dean, who huffed out a laugh and leaned in his direction, “your english is rather good, Castiel.”   
  
“Yet again, thank you. I’m a teacher, but I also like to study languages.”     
  
“You do? Do you know any french?”   
  
“ _Oui, j’aime la France_ .”  
  
  
Dean laughed.  
  
And as the corners of his eyes wrinkled, in a strange way, Castiel felt relieved.

 

They talked about family. Castiel learned that Dean had two brothers, and although the youngest was his step brother, Dean still considered him as family and was glad that he could be safe at home. His other brother, Sam, was somewhere in the trench. He asked questions about Castiel’s family too, but there was not much to tell since Castiel’s family consisted of the friends he had made in the war.

When the atmosphere tensed, Dean said he’d go look for his brother. Castiel understood and nodded, quickly searching the area with for his own friends who had left to play football. Before he managed to locate them, Dean's voice caught his attention once again.   


“You could come with me, couldn’t you Castiel?”  
  
Castiel hesitated, “I’m not sure if that’s a wise idea.”   
  
“I bet the trench is empty. And I could use some company. So you’re very welcome to join me.”  
  
  
His company completely understood why the idea could make him nervous. Hell, it made Dean nervous too. But leaving the man alone in the snow felt very wrong. Turning his back to him.     
  
“Castiel-” Dean grunted, “can I just call you Cas? Bloody hell, your name’s a mouthful.”   
  
“Cas is fine.”

 

In the end Dean managed to persuade Castiel join him. They silently made their way past the barbed wire, past the bloody spots that bodies had covered not too long ago.   
When they arrived to the right part of the trench, Dean swung his body down in the trench, but Castiel remained standing on the edge. He didn’t say anything, but Dean nodded from below. It would have felt plain wrong.   
  
  
“We left him just around the corner. You can wait here- or _there_ .”   
  
“I’ll wait.” They looked into eachother’s eyes before Dean turned around and disappeared from Castiel’s sight.  
  
  
Big white flakes of snow kept falling down, sometimes faster and sometimes slower. Castiel made the decision to inspect the snow, which would hopefully minimize the stress he was currently going through. As much as he disliked the war and believed that all men had at least some good in their hearts, he couldn’t erase the image of someone shooting him in cold blood. Someone who opposed the truce.  
  
  
“ _You’re not a Brit_ ,” someone spat out.  


Castiel’s head snapped to the speaker’s direction, and when he saw their face it shouldn’t have startled him as much as it did. He blamed his earlier thoughts and fixed his pose. The way the man twisted his face in utter disgust made Castiel feel dirty and restless. But it was war after all, he had no reason to dislike the man for his negative reaction. And he did expect something like this when he thought about declining Dean’s invitation. Maybe it was his fault for being so reckless.   
  
  
“No, I’m not,” Castiel calmly stated, “my name is Cast-”   
  
“I don’t give a rat’s ass what’s your name, brat.” The man sneered. “You should be put to death like the dog you are. Complete waste of space.”  
  
  
The man spoke with a thick accent, which Castiel recognised as Scottish. Not willing to start an argument with a man, who clearly held a great grudge and was acting beyond hostile, Castiel only listened him cursing and blustering. He had no firearms either, unlike the other man. Castiel reminded himself where he was standing.  
  
  
“ _Crowley_ .”  
  
  
Dean’s voice was strict and demanding, but it didn’t seem to affect the annoyed soldier.   
  
  
“It’s _mister MacLeod_ to you, Winchester.”   
  
“Do I have to remind you that I am your superior?”   
  
“Clearly. Considering your position, you’re rather terrific in keeping the enemy away.”  
  
  
As a warning, Dean tilted his head; begging Crowley to cross that line. It was apparent that these two weren't the greatest friends, and Castiel could only imagine what had happened between them. Crowley, who was way too tired to argue any longer, settled for giving Castiel one last dirty look before turning around and disappearing. 

  
“Sorry about that.” Dean mumbled as he turned to face the man he had brought with him, who Castiel assumed to be his younger brother.  


He turned out to be right; Sam was a very tall man, whose smile was more gentle than his brother’s. Castiel couldn’t help but to notice how well-composed Sam was, even when Castiel helped him climb over the crumbling edge and when they shook hands.  
  
  
“Dean told me that you’re a teacher.”   
  
“That’s true. I teach young children, but as much as I love them, my dream is to be a professor in a university one day.”  
  
  
Sam smiled wider this time.

  
“How about you Sam? Are you studying anything?”   
  
“Yes, I study law. I met my fiancé at the university.” He looked down at his feet, “I write to her a lot. We’ve decided to get married when I get back.”   
  
Dean smacked his brother’s back, “I’m terrified that my baby brother will leave me alone.”  
  
  
As the brothers bickered, Castiel tried to fight off his curiosity. He couldn’t decide if Dean was the type who liked prying, probably not, but then again Castiel wouldn’t ask anything insanely inappropriate. Or that's what he wanted himself to believe. 

  
“You’re not married, Dean?”  
  
  
Both brothers stared at him, as if he had said something entirely irrational. For a second, Castiel considered apologizing, social anxiety striking him like a ton of bricks.   
  
  
Finally Sam laughed and the tension dropped, “No, he sure isn’t.”     
  
“ _How?_ ” Castiel squinted, genuinely baffled. He was never very good with women, but to him Dean seemed like a good catch. His question and the deadpan expression on his face seemed to amuse the younger brother even more, who bursted into a heartfelt, loud laughter. Dean on the other hand looked embarrassed. He tried to hide it by shooting a glare at Sam, but it didn’t really stop him, quite the contrary. Dean’s reddening face only added more fuel to the fire.   
  
“I’m very demanding. I have high expectations.” Dean tried.   
  
“Sure you have. By that he means, _‘the girls I’ve dated have had too high expectations’._ He’s popular, I’ll tell you that. They see his face and fall in his arms. But as soon as they realize just how difficult my brother is, the women give up.”   
  
“Shut up, Sammy.” When Dean’s attempt to silence his cackling brother failed, he decided to try something else. “How about you Cas, huh? A pretty wife back at home?”  
  
  
Castiel took a moment to weigh his options. He had already answered the question by shaking his head and smiling, but he wished to keep the conversation flowing because he deeply enjoyed the Winchester brothers’ company. It was new and different, a welcome change compared to his ordinary conversations held in the bottom of a dirty ditch.   
  
“No, nothing like that,” he started, “I think I’ve been in love twice in my life. My first love was called Meg, but we were both much younger and more naive back then. So I can’t tell for sure whether it was true love or not. That story had a rather sad ending, you see, she got tuberculosis at the age of 18 and passed away six months later.”   
  
“My condolences.” Sam interrupted.   
  
“Thank you. After her passing it took me awhile to get back on my two feet again. But I managed. When I was 22 years old I met a woman called Daphne. She was very friendly and helped me through a difficult time, which led me to fall in love with her. But it wasn’t a fair relationship - she was truly in love with me, but I think I only fell in love with her kindness. We decided to quit it, and I think she found someone who treats her better than I did.”  
  
  
Even though Sam’s eyes held some kind of sorrow, he still managed to smile. Dean stood quietly, bemused by the sheer sincerity of the man he had met not longer than an hour ago. He had never been one to overshare, or to share at all, so the way Castiel felt comfortable sharing his past with them touched him a little. It certainly captivated him, in a way he couldn’t put into words. Not to mention the fact that according to their government he would have to shoot this man.   
  
But Dean was wrong about one thing. Castiel wasn’t entirely honest with them, for he left out one rather important piece of his past. Instead of loving _two_ people, he had loved _three_ . The key difference between his third love and the rest was what had made him withheld the information in the first place.   
  
  
_It had been a man_ .  
  
  
And it had been _the closest_ Castiel had ever been to the classical definition of love.   
  
The butterflies.

Smiling without any reason. 

Putting them above everything else.   
  
Not many knew about it, in fact only two besides him. Castiel knew better than bringing it up every time he met new people.   
  
Now that the conversation had taken a difficult turn and they had fallen silent, Dean suggested they could return to the others who probably had already returned at this point. The air cleared up quickly after that and they talked about their Christmas traditions while walking towards their destination.   


  
  
The group had moved a little, for they had been looking for the missing two. They were still easy to spot; most of them were talking in their typical loud and cheerful manner.  
  
  
“ _Das ist Sam. Er ist Deans bruder._ ” Castiel introduced Sam to his German comrades first and then turned to look at Sam, “Here are my friends. From the oldest to the youngest; Balthazar Milton and Gabriel Milton, Gadreel Ezekiel and Samandriel Alf. Fitzgerald is missing, but he’s the man who started the truce.”   
  
Sam cleared his throat and nodded, “ _Frohe Weihnachten_ .”  
  
  
The German soldiers blinked, and even though it wasn’t the first time they heard a British soldier speaking in their mother tongue, it always had a visible impact on them. Samandriel, who was always impressed whenever someone showed interest in his country, smiled from cheek to cheek.  
  
  
“ _Niedlich_ .” Balthazar grinned and crossed his arms, “ _er ist niedlich._ _Erzähl's ihm_ _,_ _Cassie_ .”  
  
  
Sam quickly noticed how Balthazar’s words had made Castiel uneasy, so he couldn’t help but to ask what the German soldier had just said.  
  
  
“He said that he is out of tobacco.” Castiel hesitantly lied, and it was right then when  both Sam and Dean learned that the man was a terrible liar.  
  
  
Gabriel who found the situation entertaining wagged his finger at Castiel, while as Balthazar kept teasing the clueless Sam in German.  
  
  
“Balthazar wants to let you know that he is very single and that you are cute.”  
  
  
Despite Gabriel’s heavy German accent, his English was relatively good and the brothers could fully understand him. Dean bent in two, holding his stomach and laughing. It was Sam’s turn to blush. His mouth opened and closed as he cleared his throat one time after another, trying to find the right words to the current situation.  
  
  
“I-” he tried, disappointed in himself when he realized that he was stuttering, “I uhm, I’m very much engaged. Thank you for the offer though. I uh, appreciate that. Yes, I do, yes.”  
  
  
Although Castiel knew that Balthazar had only been teasing, and that he most likely referred to Sam’s slight accent, he decided to let it slide. He wasn’t sure whether the remark would ease Sam’s nerves, or only make him more embarrassed.   
  
After that people engaged into conversations with one another, some talking in groups and some exchanging words between only one person. Sometimes people went to their own directions, meeting up with other friends and trying different activities. Some men played cards, some decided to nap in the tempting silence.

Samandriel got along with Sam, even though the language barrier was bigger between them. Samandriel didn’t know much English, but he was devoted in helping Sam with his German. Sam gladly accepted. He pointed at things and Samandriel would tell him what was the word for it in German.   
  
  
  
When Dean returned from a game of football that the German team had won, he made his way to Castiel who was scribbling something to his small notebook.  
  
  
“Can I join you?” he asked, but sat down before hearing Castiel’s response.   
  
It didn’t go unnoticed by him, so when he closed the leather cover and looked up at Dean, he couldn’t help but to remark. “Why would you ask if you were going to sit down anyway?”   
  
His face was as blank as it could be, so at first it confused Dean. Then he remembered just who it was and snickered, “you really have to rethink about the facial expressions you make, pal.”   
  
“I’m sorry.”   
  
“Don’t-” Dean waved his hand, “don’t be. It’s fine, you’re just incredibly hard to read sometimes.”  
  
  
Castiel didn’t know what to say, so he nodded. It wasn’t the first time he had heard that being said about him, and though it did bother him to a certain extent, he couldn’t do much about it without it coming out as incredibly forced. He had tried and Gabriel had been quite vocal about his opinion on the matter. _‘You just went from bored to psychotic. Stick to the bored._ ’  
  
  
“So, any juicy stuff there?” Castiel was pulled back to the current moment.   
  
“I’m sorry?”   
  
“To that notebook of yours. What are you writing?”   
  
Castiel ran his thumb over one of the worn out corners, “It’s not that interesting. I just like to keep a diary of some sort. I guess I thought it could get useful in the future, and if not, at least it would keep my mind occupied.”  
  
  
Dean understood the last part especially well. He himself liked to talk with Sam whenever he felt like the distraction was  welcome. They would often reminisce their happiest memories. It was a fitting arrangement to Dean who avoided talking about his feelings, it had never felt natural to him. Perhaps the way he was raised under a strict father was to blame. He had stopped searching for something to blame a long time ago.  


“What else do you usually keep in the pockets of your uniform?” Dean asked, wanting to put away the deppressing thoughts lingering in his mind.   
  
Castiel patted the first breast pocket, “the notebook and the pencil.”   
  
Then the other one, “my bible.”   
  
“Hold on- Are you religious?”   
  
Castiel, who didn’t quite understand Dean’s reaction, squinted. “Yes, I am a Christian. Are you not?”   
  
“I am,” Dean rushed the words out of his mouth, “or I _was._ I was always uncertain, but this war, Cas, the things I’ve seen in this war - they have really but my faith to the test.”   
  
“I understand what you mean.”   
  
“Do you?”   
  
“Excuse m-”   
  
“I don’t want to sound rude, but _how_ could God let these things happen to us? How could he look away when men slaughter each other?”  
  
  
Castiel put his notebook away, while as his company didn’t even flinch. He stared at Castiel, as in waiting for a life-changing answer. Unfortunately, all Castiel could offer was his own thoughts on the matter, but he was willing to try. On the corner of his eyes, he noticed Sam’s tall figure emerging from behind Dean’s back.  
  
  
“God gave us freewill. He didn’t force us to fight, he didn’t make us to kill each other. That is solely on us,” as he thought about the following words, he pressed his dry lips together, “I understand your doubt. I too, sometimes, wonder. Whether He is really there. But that is the reason of faith; all they require is faith.”  
  
  
Dean too, had noticed Sam. The younger brother stayed standing, a relaxed smile on his face. It was a familiar conversation to him, but his words never seemed to have this much affect.  
  
  
“Freewill, huh?” Dean mumbled, his gaze still fixed on Sam. “I guess we’re team free will then.”      
  
  
When his eyes moved to Castiel, the man only nodded. Sam however,  crossed his arms and chuckled.   
  
The lack of response didn’t flatten Dean’s sudden raise of spirits.  
  
  
“Sounds good to me.”   


After finishing emptying rest of his pockets, Castiel asked about the football game. The Brits’ defeat didn’t seem to bother Dean, who gladly explained how the resourceful soldiers had used empty tin cans as balls, or how the goals were marked with steel combat helmets. His arms swung as he demonstrated how he had tackled Gabriel into the mud - and how the sore loser had thrown some of the dirt after him. All of them laughed.    


 

The truce continued to the next day, which was the 25th day of December. No one knew how much longer the peace would hold, but not many bothered to spend too much time thinking about it. For now everyone wanted to have as much fun as possible, and Dean was no exception.  
  
Sam had left earlier. He had told Dean where he was going and exactly what he was doing, but for some reason it had slipped from Dean’s memory, which was not like him. Dean told himself that the fact that he remembered Sam mentioning some of their new acquaintances was good enough.   
  
Dean could spot Castiel from a fairly long distance. The chilly wind played with Castiel’s dark locks, throwing them from one side to another. He looked stern and stiff, but Dean had learned by now that it was very typical of him, and that in reality Castiel was everything but the cold person that the first impression let one assume.

  
By the time he was crossing the snow covered mud field, Castiel noticed him too. And in a second the stiffness was gone and soft smile spread across his lips.  
  
  
“Hello, Dean.” He greeted him.   
  
“Hey, Cas. And Merry Christmas.”   
  
“Merry Christmas.” For some reason, Dean’s eyes were drawn to his company’s bare hands. They were stained with ink, which suggested that he had been writing earlier. Or maybe the stains were from yesterday, Dean couldn’t be entirely sure. “Did you receive any gifts from your friends?”  
  
  
Dean thought about the question for a minute, replaying it inside his head. When he had been quiet for the better side of a minute, he finally cleared his throat and prepared to answer.  
  
  
“Not really. And you?”  
  
  
Castiel slipped his hand into his pocket, pulling out a wrapping. He carefully opened it and reached towards Dean, who without any shame picked up a piece. When he placed it in his mouth, Dean could swear he got shivers down his spine. Who would have guessed just how much he would have missed the taste of chocolate on his tongue?  
  
  
“Who gave you chocolate?” After finishing, Dean felt some sort of regret. Even though he had only taken a small piece, the fact that Castiel had not had so many to begin with made him feel stupid.   
  
“Gabriel,” Castiel took a piece himself before folding the wrappings, “I’m not sure how he got the amount that he had. Considering the circumstances, it should be impossible. But he is a higher up, so maybe that covers it.”  


They stood close to each other, maybe a step or two between them, savoring the chocolate by eating it as slow as they possibly could. It didn’t snow anymore, but what was left from yesterday seemed to be staying.   
  
Dean allowed himself to inspect Castiel, who himself was busy following the other soldiers around them. He seemed like the type who admired from afar and rarely took any part in the fun. His personality seemed very different compared to his comrades, who were rather outgoing and sometimes over the top.  
  
  
“What are they like? Gabriel for example. I heard him call you _gluck_ earlier - what does that even mean?”  
  
“ _Glucke_ ,” Castiel softly corrected, “means mother hen. It’s a nickname Gabriel gave me, because he seems to think that I act like Samandriel’s mother.”   
  
“You’re a worrier, huh? Remind me again, who was this Samandriel?”  
  
  
Dean’s cheeky grin felt familiar, and Castiel already knew he’d soon be teased. But he told him the stories anyway; how he had taken Samandriel under his wings, because he couldn’t stand to see the young man alone. Everything about Samandriel’s behaviour made it clear that he was alone, and frightened by the same reason. Company was what the boy needed, others to support and encourage him. Maybe it was Castiel’s occupation as a teacher that only strengthened his will to help.  
  
After he had summarized all of his friends in brief sentences, it was Dean’s turn to introduce what was Benny and Sam like. He also offered to talk about Crowley, the man who had been anything but kind to him, but Castiel politely refused. Rude or not, he rather not be noisy about people who clearly wanted nothing to do with him. It was different with Benny and Sam, who both had introduced themselves to him properly.   
  
It was pleasant, kinda like the chocolate.

 

One after another, their friends found their way to the pair. Not one of them looked blue when they shook hands and wished each other merry Christmas.

Someone in the group slipped three cigarettes in Dean’s hand, but he didn’t catch the man’s face and couldn’t thank him for his generous gift. Balthazar showed up with a bottle of wine which he offered to pour to everyone’s drinking cups, sharing it more or less equally. Sam on the other hand exchanged addresses with Samandriel, who borrowed the paper from Gadreel. Everyone was sharing, and this was the true nature of the joyous Christmas spirit.

  
“Give me your hand,” Dean had turned on his seat, now facing Castiel who had recently opened his notebook.

When Castiel only stared at him with the most puzzled look on his face, Dean felt obliged to specify his intentions. “You said you write things down in case they’ll be useful in the future. You collect memories, so to speak. So I have something for you - for Christmas.”  
  
  
Dean grabbed one of his lowest buttons and gave it a hard pull. It came of with ease. He brought his hand over Castiel’s open palm, and with a brush of his fingers, dropped the button on his hand.  
  
  
“I want you to keep this. I have a feeling that this Christmas will be an important part of the history one day. And it's for your stories.”  
  
  
Declining to accept a gift would be rude, not that Castiel even wanted to refuse. He just wondered whether it was appropriate a something like this, considering that Dean wouldn’t get a new button for God knows how long.

With his eyes still glued to the uniform button, Castiel made up his mind. He pulled a button of his own and practically shoved it into Dean’s hand. Though very surprised, Dean was glad. He hid the button in his closed fist and smiled; a new kind of a smile that Castiel had yet to see. It was genuine and warm. His eyes were fixed on Castiel, who thought he could see something twinkle between them.  
  
  
“Something to make you remember me,” the Brit whispered, while he himself realized that he didn’t want to be remembered, at least not the way he had indicated. Dean didn’t want to part ways, for he saw something rare and pleasant in the way they spent time together. But he knew that keeping in touch after the war would be both dangerous and nearly impossible. No matter what the end result was. 

  
“Yes. Thank you Dean.”   
  
“You’re welcome.”  
  
  
It was after the long moment they spent in silence, staring at one another, when Castiel realized that neither did he. That the forbidden way he felt when he searched for Dean’s face in the crowd, and the way he felt when he found it - it all resembled something he had once lost. 

 

* * *

 

The truce lasted over Christmas.

 

On the third day they still heard people humming Christmas carols as they passed them.  
  


On the fourth they played more football, but Germany still one. This time they all took part and Castiel even made one of the goals. It was the most alive Dean had seen him.   
  
  
  
On the fifth day Sam received a letter from home, from his future bride. Everyone was very curious and many asked a lot of questions, demanding for a photo. Gabriel and Balthazar never stopped teasing Sam, who never stopped reacting as strongly as he had on the first time it had happened.  
  
  
  
On the sixth day Castiel forgot his notebook when he had to return to the German trench. Sam had picked it up, but gave it to Dean because he knew the two would spend time together on the following day. When he handed it to Dean he didn’t have to say anything, but he gave Dean the icy look in order to warn him from reading it. Dean, who knew his brother, answered instantly. _‘It’s not like I understand German.’  
_   
But as hours passed, Dean couldn’t resist and peeked inside. He made a few observations. Number one being Castiel’s ridiculously nice handwriting, secondly there was a name that appeared time after time. Thirdly, he found photos. Amongst the faded and worn out photos was one that caught his attention; it was in the best condition after all. A young man, perhaps in his late 20s posed next to Castiel himself. Dean flipped the photo and found the familiar name and a word “ _Geliebter_ ” _._ _  
_ He put the notebook away and went straight for Sam, asking him whether he happened to know what the word meant. His brother scolded him, for he knew right away where Dean’s sudden curiosity came from. _‘Cas probably doesn’t appreciate you snuffing his love life, Dean.’_

 _  
_ Then it struck Dean.  
  
  
  
  
On the seventh day they returned the notebook to Castiel, and even though Dean _knew_ , nothing changed. He didn’t admit opening the notebook, but something inside Castiel made him suspect Dean’s honesty. However, everything seemed to continue normally so he let it slide.  
  
  
  
  
The eight and the ninth day went fast.  
  
  
  
  
But on the tenth day something happened. After Dean had been drinking with Benny and Castiel’s German peers, he decided to search for Castiel. He went as far as jumping into the German ditch, despite what had happened to Castiel who had only stood at the edge of theirs.  

  
When he found what he had been looking for, Dean noticed that the man had somehow managed to sew his British button into the German uniform.

  
Something clicked inside of him, and without one word he reached his hand out towards Castiel, bending his numb fingers over the curve of his shoulder. Then he glanced around him, and when he was sure they were left alone, he pulled Castiel into a kiss.   
  
He didn’t fight back. Even when Dean realized what he had just done, neither of them said a word. They leaned their foreheads against each other, and soon found themselves kissing again. They may have only glimpsed into each other's pasts, they may be clueless about the future - but they were more than certain about the feelings they shared on that very moment.   
  
They sat next to each other in silence, eyes fixed to the bruising sky where different hues of blue and purple mixed together.   
  
  
  
In the end, the truce lasted for nearly two weeks. When Dean and Castiel parted their ways, it had been bittersweet. Their eyes glimmered with tears, but neither of them cried unlike Samandriel, who hugged Sam the whole time the others were saying their farewells. The two of them shook hands, smiled and whispered their goodbyes.  
  
Many of the men aimed badly on purpose after that, avoiding shooting one another. It was true fraternity.   
  
  
  
**23rd of December, 1921** **  
** **Bristol, England** **  
** **  
** In front of the classroom was a writing desk, and behind the desk sat a man in a brown suit. Although his hair had been carefully styled in the morning, with a touch of Brilliantine, strands of dark hair now shadowed his forehead. He stared down at the small, round object and it filled him with joy and fondness.  
  
  
“Excuse me, sir.”  
  
  
The soft spoken girl startled the teacher, who had thought the classroom to be long empty by now. He raised his chin, moving his gaze to the teenager who he now recognised as Anne.  
  
  
“What is it, Anne? Don’t you want to go home, it is nearly Christmas after all?”  
  
  
Anne bit her bottom lip and moved her gaze to the floor. There was something quite unsettling about facing your teacher alone after school, even if your teacher was as nice as hers was. But Anne was determined, she played with the hem of her woolen shirt.  
  
  
“It’s just, the war. The way you talk about it-”   
  
“What about it?”   
  
Anne hesitated, “Weren’t you there?”  
  
  
There was a knock on the door, though it was laid open. Both of them looked at the direction of the noise. Anne turned around and fixed her pose, missing the gentle smile that spread on her teacher’s lips when he caught a glimpse of the man’s figure in the doorway  


They left the room together, leaving behind the button on top a neatly organized pile of white paper.  
  
  
They did remember. **  
** **  
**

**Author's Note:**

> Translations: 
> 
> Verdammt = God damn it.  
> Dieser Krieg ist krank = this war is insane  
> Was machen wir, Castiel? Was machen wir hier? = what are we doing, Castiel? What are we doing here?  
> Ich weiß nicht = I don’t know.  
> Natürlich = Of course.   
> Ja = Yeah  
> Was willst du, Cassie?” = What do you want, Cassie?  
> Frieden = Peace
> 
> __
> 
> Fröhliche Weihnachten = Merry Christmas  
> __
> 
> Du kleiner Rebell, Fitzgerald!” = you are a rebel, Fitzgerald!
> 
> __
> 
> Oui, j’aime la France. = yes, I love France
> 
> __
> 
> Niedlich. Er ist niedlich. Erzähl's ihm, Cassie = Cute. He is cute. Tell him, Cassie.  
> ___
> 
> Geliebter = beloved


End file.
